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It was supposed to be a simple, thoughtful gesture. A small act to show appreciation for Ritsu Shinjo, the determined first-year law student. You had always admired his persistence and his drive to change things. And you figured, what better way to show your admiration than through food? Ritsu was always so busy, so focused on his career, so wrapped up in his world of legal cases and hypothetical scenarios. You thought he might appreciate something more personal—something grounding, something real.
You had spent hours preparing dishes. The aroma of freshly cooked tempura, delicate sushi rolls, and more among others that filled your small kitchen as you meticulously laid the food out on the table. The colors were vibrant, the flavors carefully balanced. You hoped it would be enough to make him feel special.
But as Ritsu entered the room, his sharp, calculating eyes scanned the spread of food with barely a flicker of appreciation. He didn’t seem surprised, nor was he as pleased as you’d imagined. His brow furrowed slightly as he folded his arms, a faint look of confusion in his expression. “Happy Birthday, Ritsu!” you exclaimed.
“Indeed, today is my birthday,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a subtle hesitation beneath it. “I’ve always celebrated this day by enjoying my mother’s cooking. But this year... I am striving for a more self-reliant existence.”
His words left you frozen in place. For a moment, you couldn’t comprehend what he meant. You had spent so much time preparing for this, thinking this would be a small but meaningful gesture to break through his guarded exterior. But now, it felt like you had misjudged everything.
Ritsu’s gaze softened as he noticed your confusion, but he didn’t seem apologetic. He was too methodical for that. Instead, he is taking a few steps toward the table, still not quite meeting your eyes. He was a master of control, always composed, always calculating. And in that moment, he seemed to be putting his composure ahead of the situation at hand.
You cleared your throat, trying to mask the sudden pang of disappointment. “I thought... you might like it,” you said carefully, your words tentative. "You never really talk about your family, but I thought you might want a change for once. A little break from... the usual."
Ritsu took a long breath, his fingers twitching as he looked over the dishes again, seemingly in deep thought. “I appreciate the gesture, but... it’s unnecessary. I do not seek comfort from others, especially when it is... personal." His tone was distant, but not unkind.
The air between you thickened, a cold silence hanging in the room. You felt your heart beat louder in your chest, unsure how to proceed. This wasn’t the Ritsu you knew from your conversations—the determined, almost obsessively career-driven young man who worked tirelessly, but with a passion that was always somehow at odds with his cold, professional demeanor.
Finally, you broke the silence. “Ritsu... I don’t think you understand. I didn’t cook for you because I felt like it was... expected, or because I thought it was some kind of obligation. I cooked because I wanted you to know... that I care. That I’m here, even if you don’t need me. Even if you think you’re self-reliant.” You paused, watching his expression carefully. “You don’t always have to control everything.”
Ritsu’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze narrowing slightly. He seemed to be wrestling with something, a battle between his pride and his vulnerabilities. “I don’t need others to... soften me," he muttered, but his eyes betrayed him, flickering with uncertainty. “I need... to focus. To rise above."
“I know,” you said, stepping closer to him. "But it’s okay to let someone in, even just a little. You don’t have to carry everything on your own, Ritsu. I’m not here to disrupt your focus, but to remind you that... you're allowed to let people care about you."
Ritsu looked at you then, really looked at you. His walls were still up, but there was a shift, a crack in the armor. You could see it. Just a small shift. His shoulders relaxed for a moment, though he immediately straightened them, pushing the vulnerability back down. "You don't understand," he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I’m not like other people. I can't afford to... let emotions get in the way."
"Then what is it you're trying to protect?" you asked softly. "Your career? Your future? Or maybe you're afraid of what might happen if you actually let someone in?"
The silence stretched, heavy and thick. Ritsu stood still, his eyes fixed on the floor, almost as if he was calculating something in his mind—something he wasn’t sure he wanted to say aloud. But you could see the uncertainty in him, the rawness that he kept so carefully hidden.
“I... don’t know,” he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I admire my father. He taught me that emotions are weaknesses. That control is everything. And... I wanted to follow in his footsteps. To be just like him."
You stepped closer, your voice gentle. “But Ritsu... that doesn’t mean you have to be exactly like him. You’re your own person. You don’t have to be controlled by his example.”
For a moment, Ritsu didn’t say anything. He looked at the food on the table, then at you, his expression unreadable. Finally, with a sigh, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You might be right. I never really considered that... maybe there’s another way.”
You smiled, just a little, relieved to see a spark of change in him. Maybe this wasn’t the dramatic breakthrough you had imagined, but it was something. And for Ritsu, that was enough.
With a hesitant but sincere look, Ritsu finally picked up a piece of sushi. "Thank you," he murmured, a hint of gratitude in his tone. "This... this isn't what I expected. But perhaps that's not such a bad thing."
You smiled back, your heart lightened just a little, knowing that, in his own way, he had taken a step forward. But as he spoke, you noticed something that made your heart skip a beat—his cheeks were flushed a soft pink, and there was a subtle tremor in his hands as he reached for another piece of sushi. Ritsu Shinjo, the picture of controlled composure, was flustered. He looked away quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the warmth creeping up his neck.
You pretended not to notice, keeping your expression neutral, though the realization made your chest flutter. It was a rare crack in his armor, a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. Even though Ritsu tried to quickly regain his usual stiff composure, there was a quiet shift in him—he had let down just a fraction of his walls.
Even if Ritsu was still the same stubborn, ambitious young man, maybe he was beginning to see that there was more to life than control and career. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was room for someone like you in his future after all.